


Matches Met

by verbaepulchellae



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Psychopath and Sociopath walk into a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matches Met

**Author's Note:**

> I have no real excuses for this.... other than that it was prompted on the Sherlock_kink_meme, and I couldn't say. Could involve into something larger later...

They’re in some seedy bar, in some seedy neighborhood in East London. John’s not sure why, really. Usually they go out for Chinese, or Thai or when they do go drinking, it’s John dragging Sherlock to one of his preferred bars, sometimes with his rugby mates. But Sherlock had pulled him aside on a walk to the tube stop after a case and nodded toward the rundown pub. John, high on endorphins from listening to Sherlock’s quick mind and his body buzzing with the potential chase, had been quick to agree.

Now he’s three pints deep, chuckling over some inane story Sherlock is telling him over his own glass of water when a hand lightly lands on his shoulder. John turns and finds himself looking up into bright, emerald green eyes. They eyes are lazy and blink down at him indulgently, and the mouth below them curls into a soft smirk.

“Well hello,” the mouth purrs, “aren’t you a treat.” John frowns and scoots back in his chair. The boy addressing him could be no older than 20, his honey-brown hair pulled back into a loose knot at the base of his neck and, for some bizarre reason, he’s wearing formal uni robes. 

“Can I help you?” John asks, unsure if he should be insulted that some lanky twerp considers him to be a treat or not. The boy continues to smirk at him and he leans comfortably against the bar next to John.

“You should come talk to me. I’m sure your boyfriend won’t mind.” He reaches one incredibly fine hand out to touch John’s own, and John withdraws it quickly. He’s about to insist, for the hundredth… the thousandth time it feels like, that Sherlock is not his boyfriend, when he catches sight of Sherlock’s face. Oh. Maybe Sherlock did mind. He was glowering with quite more dislike than usual at the tall, skinny youth, whose smirk deepened as he took in Sherlock’s face as well. 

“Or maybe he would, but I don’t care. I’m Alec,” the boy continues, leaning closer to John. John notices the green eyes aren’t actually fixed on him, but rather are peering over his shoulder at Sherlock.

“Actually,” John says suddenly, “no thank you. I’ll just get back to drinks with my mate, if that’s alright with you.” He makes to turn back to Sherlock when Alec grips his arm and aborts his turn. 

“But I do mind,” Alec says, “I do dislike being ignored.”

“You’re not very good at listening, but that’s not very surprising, as you ran away from home several times as a child. But you were brought back weren’t you. You were sent to Oxford by your family but that didn’t take, did it? More rules, assignments that you didn’t find worth your time. So you dropped out, your second year, correct? ” Sherlock cuts in, and John notices the boy’s face freeze, a flash of fear and then pure annoyance spreads over the fine features. 

“Well, well, you’re much more interesting than you look. Irritating trick you’ve got, but I don’t care what stories you make up about me.”

Sherlock smirked and leaned forward. “But see, I think you do. You were certainly hoping to be the irritating one, weren’t you? Hoping to start a fight, so your companion,” Sherlock nods to a table in a corner, which John cranes his neck around Alec to look at, “could step in and finish it for you.” 

John peers at the table and sees in the shadow a solid, compact man around his own age sitting quietly looking on with interest. He meets John’s gaze for half a second and John feels a chill go through him as he meets the dark, intense eyes. John looks back at Alec and notices the ugly twist of the features. 

“Would you like to know something else?” Sherlock asks mildly. “How about your drug problem? Your suicidal tendencies? Or we could talk more about your family.”

Alec takes a violent step back and was now staring at Sherlock in pure, unadulterated fear. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Alec hisses. 

“I know you were raised as a pampered little brat who believed the world would be handed to him on a platter. I know you were raised partly in France and partly in Cambridge. You’re the only son of some tremendously wealthy family. Shall I tell you which?”

The man in the corner stands up suddenly and stalks quietly across the room toward the Alec. John watches him come, something curling in his belly. It’s fear, he realizes suddenly. The man walked with intention and there was a hard look in his eyes that John knew all to well. John stands up and takes a step out to meet him.

“Give me the knife.” John says quietly as he grabs the man’s wrist, delaying him from reaching Alec and Sherlock.

The man looks at him with genuine surprise and then smiles, somewhat darkly. “Planning to be a hero? There are no hero’s in this part of town, didn’t anyone tell you?” 

John looked at the man stoically. He’s vaguely aware that Sherlock has stopped talking and is looking on in interest. “I’m not a hero, far from it, just a soldier. I don’t want to break your arm, so please, give me the knife.”

The man laughs, suddenly. “I’d like to see you try,” he says agreeably. “I’m sure Alec would like to see it to, wouldn’t you Alec?”

“No, not him, Richard. I want you to kill him,” he points at Sherlock. “I don’t like him.”

John curls his fist and sends it flying at Richard’s face, but the man ducks and reciprocates with a harsh blow to John’s solar plexus. John feels the wind knocked out of him, but clings all the same to Richard’s wrist, anything to keep him from going for his knife. 

Sherlock has leapt up and stands back from the bar, a curious gleam in his eyes. “Careful, John,” John hears him murmur as he throws his weight into Richard and knocks him off balance into bar. The movement dislodges his grip and Richard, fast as lightening, turns and pulls from his belt a dagger. John and Sherlock both take a quick step back. “He’s killed before,” Sherlock finishes. 

Surprisingly, bizarrely, none of the other patrons of the bar or the barkeeper seem too worried about the fight going on in their midst. Several have turned to watch, but with detachment. John scans their faces and finds no intention to interfere. 

“There’s no need for a fight.” John says carefully. 

“Oh, it’s only interesting if you’re going to fight back,” Alec pouted from the stool he has alighted on. “Richard won’t kill you unless you fight back, some perverted sense of honour, or something.” Alec reaches out and touches his fingertips to Richard’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, my love?” Richard doesn’t turn to look at him but a smile graces his dark features. “

“Alec, what have I told you about this?” He asked as he eyed John thoughtfully. 

“But I am letting you work,” Alec half whined, crossing his legs. 

John return’s Richard’s examination. Like Alec, Richard has fine features, handsome in his own right except for the blank, detached expression in his eyes. It’s eerie, really. John knows soldier’s eyes and this man doesn’t care. He’s not haunted by lives he’s taken, or is going to take in the future. John’s not really sure if he even cares about the outcome of this fight. 

“Sherlock,” John says, “Sherlock we have to get out of here.” He glances up at his tall friend as Sherlock shakes his head. 

“He’ll just come after us, John. This is to prove a point, isn’t it?” Sherlock asks Richard.

Richard shrugs, “Alec is reckless, I’m just making sure he’s safe.”

“By murdering us?” John laughs in disbelief, “How does that work?”

“I make people angry,” Alec sighs dreamily, “People try to kill me.”

“Yeah, people, not us.” John growls. He wishes he had his gun. “Though I can see why.”

“Well, you made me angry. He knew me. No one is supposed to know me here.” Alec stares at Sherlock with large, cat-like eyes. Sherlock returns the gaze with his usual calculated stare.

“You want to prove that Alec has protection. You’re a big name in these parts, aren’t you? You think showing people that you’ll fight his fights will leave him free to cheat at cards and pick pockets to his hearts content, isn’t that right?” Sherlock muses.

Alec blanches again. “Stop it. Stop thinking, stop seeing. You don’t know me.”

Richard gently places a hand on Alec’s knee to quell the shiver there. “That’s about right, yeah.” He tells Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes narrow. “But there’s more. It’s not random. This fight’s purpose is twofold, isn’t it?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Richard says easily. He’s relaxed slightly, leaning back against the bar and considering both John and Sherlock with his purple eyes. 

“You’ve been hired to kill me.” It’s not a question. John stares in panic up at Sherlock who avoids his gaze. However, in a minute movement, John feels Sherlock press something heavy and metal to his back. It’s his gun John realizes and shifts an arm behind his back to accept it. 

“I have been, yes.” Richard says pleasantly. “I suppose it’s alright to tell you that if you’ve already guessed it.”

“Richard is such a clever killer,” Alec murmurs, looking hungrily at Richard, at Richard’s dagger. “So beautiful to watch death so close.”

“Let me guess, Moriarty?” John asks rather sarcastically. He’s getting tired of this game with the mad genius. 

Sherlock chuckles at his side. “When isn’t it Moriarty?” He and John exchange an amused look.

“Again, I’m not at liberty to say. But I am going to kill you.” 

“You’ll have to get past me first,” John says and pulls his gun from behind his back, fixing it on Richard. Richard stares at him, with the same detached expression. Alec leans forward eagerly.

“I don’t want to fire, but I will,” John says over his steady hand.

“A champion to face the champion?” Richard laughs quietly. “Classic maneuver, but those who can afford it. But you’re not his bodyguard, are you?”

“Try lover,” Alec chimes in. He’s staring with rapt attention at John’s gun, but there’s no fear in his face. 

“No, not that either,” John sighs, “Just friend.”

“Are you sure your contract doesn’t say first blood?” Sherlock muses idly. He’s bored, John can tell, and John shakes his head. Leave it to Sherlock to be bored when his life is on the line.

“Reading up on your classic duels?” Richard smiles easily. “No, it was to the death.”

John fires almost without thinking, one shot to Richard’s shoulder and the next into his leg. Alec flinches and then drops with Richard to the floor, pulling him to his chest as Richard grimaces in pain. He looks up with cold, clear eyes, the clearest they’ve been all evening. There’s an angry snarl on his face and intense dislike as he stares at John.

“I’m not going to kill you. It’s not worth my time to kill Moriarty’s pawns anymore.” John says coolly. “Count that as first and second blood and leave it be.” Richard looks up with the same stoniness as before.

Alec rises gracefully and stares with his wide eyes at John. “Leave.” There’s ice in his tone.

“Come along, John,” Sherlock says quietly. “We’re not far from the tube.”


End file.
